


Devil

by MaK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, poorly written things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:05:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaK/pseuds/MaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>yeah just dont read this because its like one in the morning and im basically drunk right now but i mean if youre going to read it its about rose fucking both bro and doc and figuring out she has a thing for older dudes you happy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil

You pursued Bro after your first sleep over with your brother, Dave. Despite his name, you’d like to think of the man as your uncle rather than another sibling. You respect, if only because he’s an elder, but admire him all the same. Calloused fingers in leather gloves and eyes shadowed behind shades that don’t seem nearly as dorky as they did on your brother. Possibly because he’s so confident or because he’s so cocky, you’re attracted him more so than you’d like to admit. Dave doesn’t notice, nor does his brother (you think), because there’s nothing to show. You’re very quiet about your attraction. Though proudly written in your notebooks and rarely sketched in the empty space, you still can’t openly admit to yourself, or anyone, that you find Bro even mildly attractive.

However, you figure it’s no mystery so to why you beg to spend more time in Texas. “I want to spend more time with my dear brother, Mom,” you say, acting younger. Despite her games and her passive aggressive jabs at you, a mother will do what’s best for her children. Then again, if she knew you were fantasizing about being fucked by her brother, your uncle, she probably would not have let you go.

But she doesn’t know, so you really don’t have any qualms.

Dave greets you at the airport, long shirt and jeans despite the ninety degree weather. He smiles upon your appearance and hugs you and you kiss one of his cheeks – a habit picked up from your time in Europe. He wipes the lipstick mark off his cheek and offers to grab your luggage, which you decline. You only brought a backpack and your wallet. “Packing light,” he points out. “How long are you staying?”

“A week, perhaps less,” you shrug, smirking as you stare around the area. It’s hot and it looks as if the air in the distance is shivering but it’s all things you’ve seen before and you’re readily prepared for Texas’s weather; and other things. Dave seems disappointed with your announcement.

He drives you to the apartment and explains that him and Bro have been moved up two floors and given a bigger flat. “Something about papers or some shit?” he questions, looking quizzical. “I dunno, that’s what Bro said. Honestly I think he sucked off the manager so we could have more room for his sex toys.”

You grin becomes more out of enjoyment than out of striving to seem indifferent and cocky. “You’re sure that doesn’t dig into any of your own fantasies, Strider?”

“Mm,” he ponders, sarcastic. “Nope, how ‘bout you, Lalonde?” it’s all joking of course, and you chuckle. He grins, showing white teeth beneath red lips. “Probably wanna fuck him senseless or some shit, am I right?”

Dave stuffs his hands in his pockets and you reconsider the possibility of him and Bro having some kind of incestuous relationship behind closed doors. It could be, but it seems unlikely as Dave frequently talks of men and women coming over and leaving the next morning.

Bro is sitting on the floor playing the Xbox, this time with a game that looks more easily played than the others in his collection. “Sup Dave, hey Rose,” he greets, casually, and scores a kill on his game.

“Afternoon,” Dave and you say in unison. He glances at you and shrugs, earlier claiming it’s a twin thing. You shrug as well and drop your things on top of a smuppet and sit down on their couch.

He scores at least three more kills, one being a headshot, before his character collides into a car and is stuck crotch-first in the windshield. He doesn’t reset but twists the joysticks around, chuckling. After he gets free, he asks, “How was the flight, dear?”

“Cold and crowded,” you bite at your lip and study the muscles of his shoulders and back. Those polos look ridiculously tacky and good on him. “However, the man next to me thought it appropriate to strike up a conversation about my breast after an hour or so. So kind of him.”

Bro laughs, impaling his character in a flag pole and killing two other players. “What else would you talk about on a flight?”

“Fucking turbulence,” Dave shouts from the kitchen.

 

Dave offers his room and Bro offers his futon but you decline both and opt for sleeping on their couch. Your brother retires early, nine PM, and Bro nudges your arm and chuckles, “Gonna wank.” You smirk, which he has come to recognize as a laugh and snorts loudly.

Now that the moment arises, you’re hit with a ball of insecurity and fear; so you’re blunt. “Bro?”

“Yeah?”

“I think we should fuck.” You stare at him over a blanket and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Huh,” he shrugs his shoulders and seems to be considering it. You’re kind of excited. “So, you’re serious and shit.”

You hum.

He stands up and turns up the volume on the TV while making his way over to you. Bro takes away the blanket you’d been curled up in and picks you up, as if you weigh as much as a feather, and switches spots. He’s on the couch, blanket bunched up against the small of his back, with you straddling his lap. “Oh,” you bite your lip and flush. He smirks at you.

“Tell me when you wanna stop,” and he presses your lips together.

Bro Strider is a very good kisser.

The atmosphere transitions from slightly awkward and confusion to absolute mush; you melt against his mouth and his hands lay on your hips as he makes quick work of his tongue. Bro bites at your lip and gropes your ass and somewhere along the way you let out a small yelp and a moan but you never say stop and lap at his neck while his fingers scratch at your back, per request. The beginning of an erection can be felt on your thigh.

The stubble on his chin scratches lightly at your skin and his fingers, calloused and skilled, kneed your flesh easily and you’re pretty sure without all that he could just as effortlessly make you moan and whimper. “You’re a devil,” you whisper against moist skin.

“You’re the one who asked for it,” he says, voice nonchalant and not nearly as husky or airy as your own. In a way, you spite him for it, but overall it makes you admire him all the more and you find him even more attractive for his poker face.

Bro butt dials your mother while you’re in an ocean of pleasure and he only finds out once your lips around his prick.

 

You don’t see Bro or Dave again and your mother moves the two of you back to England. “Rose, Rose, Rose,” she mumbles.

“Whatever, mom,” you sneer and grumble. 

On your birthday, she buys you a pack of condoms.

 

You start your sophomore year of high school at an academy near France. You don’t make friends and this is usual but your mother continues to act disappointed and worried so you bring home a girl named Kanaya.

You’re more than sure your mom heard you moan.

“A girlfriend?” she asks.

“A friend,” you respond.

She huffs, “With benefits.”

 

You return to school, seventeen and in all advanced classes. Few friends greet you at the doors, one being Kanaya – who you share a quick kiss with – and the others being Aradia and Jade. Once school gets into the groove of things, you find yourself attracted to a new teacher.

Doctor Scratch – not mister, never mister – a man who stands tall and always wears white and always has on green suspenders. The man is at least forty four, skin gaunt and voice smooth. His hair is thinning and he has a strong nose that reminds you of John’s and hands that you’ve dreamt of more than once.

The two of you spark up a relationship relatively quickly.

He acknowledges you as one of the brightest students he’s ever encountered and a girl with startling beauty. “Almost intimidating,” he describes, running a hand up your thigh as you press his chest with your toes.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You didn’t expect or want it to dip into anything personal, but you begin to refer to him as your lover and partner in your mind – though he only identifies as one. You let it slip as he kisses your neck, “I love you,” and his hands grope your beast.

He hums against your skin, and it makes you shudder, but he does not say it back.

You’re tempted to cry but you’re overwhelmed with heat.

“You are mine, my sweet, sweet, dear Rose.”

“And you’re a pedophile.”

“One you adore.”

He tugs at your tights and the two of you fuck in a supply closet but manage to not get caught. When you question his taste and his attraction for you he only quips, “I usually like younger girls,” and, “You’re wise beyond your years but you have the face of a twelve-year-old, love.”

Your face goes pink at the ending word.

His does as well.

 

The relationship goes quickly downhill from that point on.

 

He turns forty-six and when you ask about dating and marriage he looks sadly at you and says, “You’re seventeen, dear.”

The last you see of Scratch is at your graduation and he shakes your hand and hugs you. “You’re a devil,” travels from your lips to his ear and you walk away briskly, but satisfied.

 

At this point in your life, you figure out that you have a thing for older men.

**Author's Note:**

> i told you not to read it


End file.
